Parasite
by Unauthorizedx
Summary: n  "something that exists by taking from or depending on another" Gilbert finds himself dropped into a world he thought only existed in books, only to find it right beneath everyone's noses and that his world is as corny as it seems. Vampire!AU, RusPrus
1. Freakoids everywhere

**The following story contains Vampires (of the non-sparkling variety), violence, and coarse language****.**

**It may or may not involve Russia x Prussia, and the possibility of sexual themes.**

**Reader discretion is advised.**

-x-x-

**Parasite**

**Chapter One**

-x-x-

Gilbert figured that the scariest feeling ever was having your skin burn to a crisp right before your very eyes.

Now, Gilbert wasn't exactly the darkest-skinned man out there – in fact, he was an albino, but even albinos didn't go from rare to extra-crispy in six-point-oh seconds flat.

Okay, maybe that was a _bit _of an exaggeration, but he had artistic license, man! Besides, saying something like "Oh, yeah, took four hours, but my skin almost turned _brown_!" didn't exactly catch the ladies' attentions, and he had to have his bragging rights.

But anyway, he was becoming well-done right now, as vampires and sun don't exactly mix that well. _Heh, vampire_.How corny. No, he couldn't just have some crazy allergy **and **albinism; he had to be a fucking blood-sucking _freakoid_.That was so just his luck. He made sure to glare heatedly at the back of his Changer(Or whatever the fuck he was called, Gilbert didn't know or really care)'s head, and hopefully drill through his skull in the process.

God _damn_ was he starting to hate Lithuanians. Sure, the man had saved his life kinda – Gilbert so could have handled it, of course – from becoming a bloody smear on some gangster's criminal record, but he still didn't have to change him. Even if, you know, that was really his only choice.

But that was completely off-topic. Right now, the topic was that he and that damnable Lithuanian were walking through the streets of L.A. (_of course,_ he thought,_ L_._A_. would _have vampire freaks_) in the middle of the day in nothing but a t-shirt and pants. Hell, they'd been walking most of the day, and walking was a bit of an issue for Gilbert, since he still had a bullet lodged in both his collarbone and his leg (_that_ was earning a good number of odd stares), not to mention that newpires or fledglings or _whatever_ were rather weak in the beginning, especially to sunlight. Not to mention the fact that he's a fucking albino, to boot.

He's mentioned that already, hasn't he? Ah, damn.

"Are we there yet?" he groused, not even knowing where they were going, but it had to be shady, right?

The Lithuanian – who he _still _couldn't get to say his name – looked over his shoulder and fixed his green eyes on him, almost looking like he wanted to make the albino burn even faster, and took a moment before answering. "No,"

Gilbert blinked. The fuck kind of answer was that? He kind of assumed, y'know, but it was more-or-less a question of _when_ they'd get there. "How about now?"

"Open your mouth again, and I'll tie you up to a lamppost and leave you there," Gilbert's eyes widened in surprise, because holy _fuck _was this kid just a ray of fucking _sunshine_. He seriously made his stuffy younger brother and even his stuck-up cousin seem like they didn't have any anger issues. And that was saying something.

_Note to self, don't piss the short kid off_.

He wisely kept his mouth shut for the remainder of the trek, which was only about ten more minutes (thank _God_), and only opened it again to question why the fuck they were in a dingy little alley, of all things. The Lithuanian turned to him at that point with a very serious 'Shut the fuck up and _listen_, bitch,' expression, hands on his hips and brows furrowed.

"_Look,_" He bit out, "I didn't change you because I felt sorry for you for getting caught up in a drug scam, okay? I've seen your type. I don't _like_ you. But, unfortunately, my boss does. Which is the only goddamn reason you're alive right now," Gilbert didn't really know how to take that. Who the hell wouldn't like him, and how did he know about his 'drug' trafficking? That was _beyond_ top-secret.

Hey, you could make a good buck off of selling idiots ground-up sugar pills. Serves them right for not knowing the difference.

"You would've been changed today no matter what," the other man continued, and Gilbert brought his attention back to him, interested. "My boss has a set date for everything. Today was your day. Anyway," Before he could even think of opening his mouth to ask something, the brunette cut him off. Seriously, what's up with him? "When you speak to him, you will call him 'Sir', understood? Treat him like you would Fritz,"

Wait, wait, wait, _wait_. Fritz? This guy knew about Fritz?

Gilbert felt the sudden urge to go steal someone's identity. This shit was creeping him out. "Are you guys like...some crazy-ass vamp Mafia? Because you're _really –"_

"Creeping you out, yes, I know," he finished for him, leading the albino to wonder if he could read minds. To test this, he stared intensely at the other, think really weird things – which was saying something, coming from him. The Lithuanian was un-amused. "Would you stop pretending to be constipated and be serious for once?"

Okay, well, maybe he _couldn't _read minds, and he was just really used to people being freaked. Which meant he changed people often. Man, this guy's a bitch **and **he ruins lives. Gilbert bet he just _loved_ his life, which might explain his pissy-ness...

"Alright. So. We're just going to sit around here and...What?" Gilbert looked around, not seeing another soul (Hah, implying he or Liet-boy had souls) in the dark little alley, let alone a door or anything. Maybe this Boss guy he mentioned would just swoop in and finish him off. Oh, if only.

Said pissy-man gave him an irritated, let's-get-this-over-with-already look and punched the brick wall beside him. Gilbert gawked in surprise as not only did he stick his _fist_ through a solid brick _wall_, it was _only_ the one brick, and it slid out and made a rather loud _thunk_ on the other side.

Which meant that there was a space behind the wall.

_Great, we're going to Hogwarts,_ he thought, watching as the other seemed to grab something and _pulled_, releasing some crazy mechanism that sounded like it had a lot of gears that eventually drew back part of the wall, revealing a brick and a rather ornately carved redwood door and even one of those huge, tacky-looking door knockers. _Totally called it_.

The door swung inward, and Gilbert felt his eyes (He fucking _felt them_) dilate and change as they adjusted to the lighting - or lack-there-of – in the long hallway of the hidden...whatever this place was. The Lithuanian gestured him to follow, before swiftly striding into the place. As he expected, the moment they were both inside the hide-out, the door clicked shut behind them. Because _that _didn't scream 'corny horror movie' at _all_. He looked back to the brunette, only to find him walking deeper into the Pits of Hell, as Gilbert now decided to name the place. And it really looked it, what with the massive stone blocks that made up the walls leaking moisture and the cobwebs _everywhere_ and the cobble that just about took out his foot as he tripped over it. Definitely hell.

"Stop making such a racket," The other called from ahead, waiting at a rather solid-looking door with no way to open it on this side. Gilbert stopped beside him and raised a brow, wondering how wonder-Liet would open _this_ door. He pitied the closest wall.

Instead of going demolition-derby on poor, defenceless walls like he expected, the Lithuanian only rapped on the door a few times before it opened to them. _That totally ruined my fun,_ he frowned, yet again following the shorter man into a rather elegant foyer, stopping to stare at the _ginormic_ chandelier that hung over dead-centre of the room, dozens of candles flickering in carefully-forged glass holders and lighting the large room. Ruby wallpaper with simple gold designs every foot gave the room a welcoming air, several portraits of people flaking paint smiled at them in greeting, and beautifully carved doors set into the walls led off to who-knows-where. A grand staircase led up for a good length before giving way to a landing with two more stairs on either side leading off to the upper levels. A huge painting hung at the top of the main stairs depicting a man with sandy blonde hair, smiling violet eyes set under thin brows, and a large and very Russian nose and a _very_ Russian uniform. Gilbert wasn't exactly a war expert, but he could bet you dollars to donuts that the uniform was early nineteenth century, right before the revolution.

What the _fuck_ was a place like this and a picture of a man like _that _doing hidden away in Los Angeles?

"Stop your gawking and let's go," The Lithuanian spoke up, snapping his fingers irritably in Gilbert's face to catch his attention.

"Yeah, yeah, coming," he said, very much distracted. He came from a middle-class family – well, poor since they immigrated, there were rather rich back in Germany – so he had never really seen a place like this other than in pictures and movies. Well, cousin Roddy had a place like this, but he was a prissy bitch and didn't count at all, nor was his house this big.

Hell, he hadn't even seen all of this place yet, and it was already massive! The owner _clearly_ had some compensation issues. Why else would they own something like this?

Oh yeah, he was a vampire.

Which only stood to reason that the Russian in the huge-ass portrait at the head of the stairs was this 'Boss' guy the Lithuanian had mentioned and spoke so highly of earlier. The one who wanted him dead – or undead, as the case may be. Gilbert pressed his fingers to his neck. Yep, undead.

He snapped out of his reverie to find his guide walking away and through a set of double doors to the right, and he rushed to catch up, staring mutely at the twin roaring lions carved into the wood, poised so that when the doors were shut they would do battle. Beyond the lions was a drawing room, a few plush couches and chairs placed around a dark wood coffee table holding up some books and an empty teacup. The brunette only paused long enough to pick up the dish and continued leading the way through yet another door (this one rather plain, he noted) into a kitchen. Gilbert saw dark red cupboards and black granite countertop before he was lead out of the room and into...

A fucking throne room?

The pair entered quietly through a side door, as the massive – and he did mean _massive_ – doors to the right clearly led to a courtyard of, Gilbert squinted at the frosted glass, what looked like gardens of sunflowers. Even more paintings hung on the wall, although this time they were of forests of ancient oaks or rolling fields of wheat or the man in the portrait in the foyer standing amongst rows and rows sunflowers. Marble pillars where spaced out evenly, five on each side, stretching high above them, made the room seem almost bigger, rather than making it cluttered and stuffy. At the far left end of the room was a slightly raised platform, upon which a golden, plush-looking throne sat with arms resembling lions roaring, their mouths agape and tongues lolling out.

Gilbert decided right there and then that this man was arrogant and stuffy, and probably walked like he had something _unpleasant_ shoved up his ass at a funny angle. And he probably had a tiny penis.

Someone cleared their throat, making him jump in surprise. "_Spasibo_, Toris, you have done very well," The Lithuanian nodded and bowed, and Gilbert could only assume that his name was Toris. Toris opened his mouth to say something, but the speaker from before beat him to it. "You may leave. And Gilbert, come here,"

It was only until Toris turned on his heel and walked out the way they came that the albino looked in the direction from where he had heard the voice, eyes resting on and seeing the figure in the throne for the first time.

His feet moved forward on their own violation, it seemed, as he was too shell-shocked to actually move otherwise, until he was standing a few yards from the throne. The man from the portraits sat comfortably, one leg crossed over the other, hands in his lap, and his eyes closed. Gilbert swallowed thickly before he found his voice. "Who the fuck are you?"

The Russian smiled and laughed softly, a deep, rumbling noise. "Is that the way you treat the man who gave you a second chance?" He finally opened his eyes, and...

And everything in Gilbert's head _snapped_.

-x-x-

**To be continued...**

-x-x-

**Did you like this? Find any grammar or spelling mistakes? Don't like how I'm doing something? Review!**


	2. Oh, goody

**Warnings: Coarse language, blood, and, well, vampires. Still.**

**Author's note: This is rather short, compared to the last chapter, and has almost no action. Sorry. I think explaining certain things about my little vampire world before we got anywhere. Important stuff.**

**Want a pairing mentioned in here? I might be able to fit it, just so long as it isn't USUK, GerIta, FrUk, SuFin, or Spamano.**

**Aaaand there goes all the people wanting pairings. Sorry, I'm terribly picky.**

**BUT ENOUGH RAMBLE. Please enjoy this next instalment of – **

-x-x-

**Parasite**

**Chapter 2**

-x-x-

Gilbert yelped and held his hand to his mouth, finally breaking his eyes away from the Russian on the throne. "Ow, what the fuck – am I _bleeding_?" He stared at his hand, or more specifically, the small amount of blood on his palm. Where in the _hell_ did that come from?

In front of him, Sir What's-his-face chuckled, and Gilbert hissed at the sudden amusement he found at himself. _What the fuck is going on,_ he thought, completely freaked out. He did _not_ find this funny, why the hell did he want to laugh, too? "That's only to be expected. After all, you did just drop fang," he said, and the German scoffed.

"The _fuck_ is 'drop fang'?" he growled, only to find out on his own. "Shit!" His hand flew to his mouth again as blood dripped off his chin from twin sliced in his lips.

Slices from his fucking _fangs_.

Okay, so everyone who knew how to read knew that vampires had fangs – those pansy ones that seemed so popular lately did _not _count – but he never would have guessed they were _that_ sharp. He also didn't expect them to just _show up_ like that, without him even feeling it. If he could feel his eyes dilating, he should sure as hell feel his teeth growing. But, of course, they just had to pop out of nowhere, and presumably slice the shit out of his gums, which would explain the blood.

"Careful, they're sharp," Gilbert could have _killed_ that smug bastard at the moment, after he made him walk through the city for an hour, if not more, get burned worse than he ever had before, _die_, and now bleed everywhere. Fucker was probably licking his lips at that. He shuddered at the mere thought.

"Kinda got that, but what I don't get is _why_," he touched the tip on one carefully, not meeting the Russian's eyes again in case _that_ happened again, and hissed when it cut open. Sharp was a bit of an understatement, it seemed.

"Because it's my blood that created you as you are now. Our blood is connected, and due to the strength of our bloodlines, we wish to feed off each other, get rid of the competition and strengthen ourselves," the other said nonchalantly, receiving a sulking glare from Gilbert, who was sucking on his finger to stop the bleeding.

Yeah, because that was just totally normal. Fucking freakoid.

"Called your bluff, Commie fuck," he said, shaking his hand and wiping the spit off himself, "You weren't there to change me. So you didn't make me, and our blood ain't 'connected', like you seem to think,"

Russian Freak sighed, and when he spoke again, Gilbert noted that he had _dropped fang_ or whatever as well, and seeing the delicate weapons in his mouth sent a shiver down his spine. A _pleased_ shiver. Things kept getting weirder and weirder today. "My name is not 'Commie', Gilbert, it is Ivan. No, you see, I gave Toris a vial of my blood. When he found you, he injected it into your bloodstream. That is how you were changed,"

Gilbert looked down at the tiny bloodstains on his hand and wrinkled his nose. That meant Freakoid – sorry, _Ivan's_ – blood was mixed in with his own. That was so _gross._ "So... wait, only I have your blood, how the hell do we share a connection?" he asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

Ivan smiled again, some fake, plastic, _annoying_ smile that never reached his eyes, and tutted. Like he was talking to a child. Oh, he was _so_ kicking him in the jaw. "No, no, Gilbert, you don't understand. You see, your family is a line of very old, very strong vampires. Vampirism is a born trait usually, as changing used to be annoyingly difficult, but, as all genetic things, they occasionally skip generations. You just happen to be the bit of the family that was skipped," His smile only widened as he watched Gilbert think it over, trying to make sense of it. When he opened his mouth, Ivan continued. "A long time back, someone from your family mated with someone from mine, which is where you get my lineage. Therefore, I have both out blood in my veins. Make sense?"

_No, but okay. _"Yeah, I guess. But... _why _did you have me Changed?" Gilbert inquired, running his thumb over his canines and making a pleased noise when he found them back to their normal state. Good, now he didn't have to talk funny.

"Because I need your blood," Gilbert snapped his eyes back to the other, frowning.

"The fuck do you mean by that?" Worried, he shifted his weight back, a move that was noted by Ivan.

"I mean that, eventually, I will have to drain your body of blood to live on. You see, vampire society is governed by our blood, and when there is two possible heirs for a bloodline, both sides weaken until one is killed and drained by the other," The whole time, those violet eyes never left his, and it creeped him out. From where he was standing, and thanks to his newly improved (to say the least; his vision was fucking _astounding_) eyes, he could see each change in his eyes, watching the pupil elongate and retract, dilate, and subtly change colour, and needless to say, it was fucked up.

"So," he ventured, finding his voice again, "One of us will have to kill the other to live? I don't see why you didn't leave me to rot on the streets, then, or why you're bothering to tell me this now, rather than eat me," Eesh, Ivan's pupils just turned into vertical slits at that, but there was no visible change in his expression for him to tell what that meant.

"Because it has to be a vampire's blood, and I, quite frankly, do not want to touch your brother," The Russian chuckled, shifting into a more comfortable position in his throne. "As for why you aren't dead, well... since you are a newborn, by Changed standards, your blood is weak and won't sustain me, and you feeding from me would be impossible, as I won't let you. It takes about four months for you to become less chemically... chaotic,"

Gilbert paled, if that was even possible. That meant that he only had four months to live. Live, or somehow kill off his long-lost cousin.

Does he need to learn to fly now, too?

-x-x-

**To be continued**

-x-x-

**Like what you see so far? Find that I've muddled up something? Hate it with a passion? Review! I like to hear your thoughts, and it reminds me to continue writing.**


	3. Holy fuck

**Warnings: Coarse language, blood, more vampires, and sexual implications. **

**Author's note: I seem to be just ploughing through this story, aren't I? I suppose it's a good thing. Things get a tad heated in this chapter. That's all I'm saying. Enjoy!**

-x-x-

**Parasite**

**Chapter Three**

-x-x-

Much to Gilbert's disappointment, the bullets didn't pop out of his skin in a Wolverine-like fashion, and instead had to be removed painfully by hand.

Although, he _did_ have a rather hot chick tending to him, her hair almost as pale as his own and eyes a deep, icy blue, not to mention a rather short dress that hiked up when she sat down, and he attempted to flirt with her.

Attempted being the key word.

_Man, she has to have a heart of ice,_ he thought disappointedly, hissing in pain as she placed a red-hot iron rod on the bullet wound in his thigh. This was fucking bullshit, using medical treatments from the Middle Ages! Then again, she _had_ pointed out that their skin wasn't exactly the softest thing ever, and needles, in all their pointy glory, couldn't exactly pierce them to sew up. That, and apparently cauterizing gaping flesh wounds was safer – as long as he didn't do something stupid – in the long run.

Still hurt like a bitch, and he complained rather loudly as the hot chick (who had told him earlier, after much pestering, that her name was Natalia) wrapped a bandage around his shoulder, earning him a cold, soul-freezing glare and a sharp tug as she tied the dressings up. Jeez, what a she-bitch.

"If you don't shut up, I'll hand you over to Toris," she warned, standing up and hefting her iron poker over her shoulder. Gilbert just rolled his eyes and pulled on his shirt. Because Toris was so _terrifying. _What was he going to do, hiss at him? Tie him to a chair and turn on a light? _Oh, he's so scary. _Natalia huffed quietly and turned on her heel, probably think how utterly _useless _the albino was, knowing her, and walked out of the room.

Which left Gilbert alone in a huge-ass room in a huge-ass house. Now that he had the chance to look around, he finally realized how big the room he was in was. His living room in his house was smaller than this, and this was just a _bedroom_. He was sitting on a chair on the far left end of the room, with a chair set up in front of him that Natalia had been sitting in and a large, dark wooded armour. The centre of the room was dominated by a huge, ancient-looking four poster bed, red velvet curtains tied to the posts and a maroon comforter covering the bed itself. Beyond that was a small sitting area, complete with a sofa and a plush chair, a fireplace (with yet _another_ painting of Ivan hanging over it), a mahogany desk and matching chair, and a bookshelf filled to the brim. The double doors several feet from the end of the bed were carved in the likeness of an eagle.

If this was one of the smaller rooms, he was seriously concerned about the rest of the house. One would think that a house this size would be _underground _or something, since it was _way_ bigger than the city block they had been on, not to mention taller. He made a mental note to ask about it at some point.

Just as he was about to snoop around in the armour (and possibly steal something – hey, he was an opportunist), someone knocked on the door and came in. Privacy _clearly_ wasn't an option here. Remind him to sleep in pants from now on. He turned away from his wooden jackpot to see that the intruder was a tray-bearing _kid._ When the kid saw him and his probably less-than-happy expression, he started shaking madly, upsetting the bowl and mug on his tray. Gilbert strode over and rescued his food from the jittery brat, and set it down on the bed. "Who the hell are you?"

Jitters stared up at him with big, adorable violet eyes and gulped. "R-Raivis," he stammered, and started shaking worse. Gilbert resisted the urge to face-palm. Man, Ivan must be a total bastard to make such a young kid afraid of everything like this...Which could mean bad things for his future, now that he thought about it.

Gilbert shifted uneasily and shoved his hand out to Raivis, giving him his best grin. "Nice to meet ya, Raivis. I'm Gilbert," The tiny blonde looked like he had either no idea what to do with Gilbert's hand, or he was afraid he would rip his arm off. When his expression looked scared constantly, it was hard to tell. Gilbert slowly dropped his hand, grin faltering a bit. This kid had a talent for making things awkward, apparently.

"It's nice to meet you, Sir," the boy said formally, dropping his head in a quick bow, and surprising Gilbert a bit. Middle-class Gilbert had never been called sir before, other than when he was kicked out of a cinema for being too loud. Then again, that seemed to happen frequently.

And cue the awkward moment again. This was what, the third one? Poor kid. Gilbert cleared his throat. "Well, thanks for the food, I guess," Raivis gave him a tiny, thankful smile and scurried out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind himself.

Alone again, our German protagonist stared down at the bowl of what looked like borscht. _Borscht._ Also known as Poor Man's Food. How could Ivan live in such an expansive place, yet eat such shitty food? Fucking cheap bastard. Sighing, he looked at the mug.

The mug of _blood._ Figures.

Despite how grossed out he was by that, he couldn't help but lick his lips and pick it up. An intoxicatingly sweet scent hit him, and he stared, wide eyed, at the ruby liquid. _Fuck_ that smelled good. _I'm so going to hell for this,_ he wrinkled his nose, and before he could go back on his decision, he took a sip. Or that's what he planned, anyway. The moment it touched his lips, he couldn't stop, and ended up cranking his neck to chug it back, even going as far as trying to lick the tiny amount of residue on the sides of the mug. Once he realized how _sick_ and _wrong _he was being, he tossed the mug away from himself and pressed a hand to his mouth.

"Good, wasn't it?"

Gilbert learned at that moment that he did actually squeak like a girl when he was startled. Well. He totally owed Antonio twenty dollars now. He glared up at Ivan in the doorway and removed his hand from his face. "The hell do you want?"

Ivan smiled and chuckled quietly, pushing off the door to walk closer to the bewildered albino. "What, am I not allowed to visit my cousin?" he asked, stopping and tilting Gilbert's chin up with his finger. Personal space, privacy, does any of these words mean anything to these people? "You're still thirsty, aren't you?"

Now that he mentioned it, Gilbert felt like he just ran a marathon without water. Or with only a mouthful. "So? I'll just drink some water or something. I'll be fine," he replied, swatting away his hand.

Ivan didn't look all that convinced though. The Russian sighed and glanced at the door, mumbling something about Toris not getting something, before turning back to Gilbert. "No, you won't. Toris didn't let you feed off him?" Gilbert shook his head, and Ivan frowned. "Very well," His hand went up to the beige scarf that he seemed to wear constantly for whatever reason and started loosening it.

Gilbert raised his hands and waved them, "Wait, wait, wait, what're you doing?" he squawked, watching as the long cloth fell from his shoulders and revealed his neck. The sudden pain in his mouth barely registered in his head as he stared at the skin, watching the faint movements of his pulse, zoning in so that he could _hear_ the beating of the blood in his veins. He didn't even try to suppress the shiver that went down his spine.

"Go ahead," Gilbert didn't need to be told twice. His arms seemed to move on their own, grasping his shoulders and dragging him down to his level. He hesitated, a fraction of a blink, nose brushing against that pulse, before he plunged his fangs into his neck.

The moment the blood hit his taste-buds, it was like an explosion had gone off in his brain. He just barely caught the breathy moan in his ear, barely felt the pair of arms encircle his waist, barely felt _anything_ beyond the pure, agonising pleasure coursing through him. There was a jerking of hips – oh _god _what was _that_ do it _again _– and he moaned through the blood in his mouth, rolling his hips and _oh,_ that was _amazing. _

When Ivan pushed him off a few minutes later – earning him a whine – he found that they had fallen to the bed, Ivan's shirt was pushed up and his buckle and button on his pants undone, and Gilbert's shirt completely off and tossed out of reach. Ivan was breathing hard, eyes glazed over, and legs trapped underneath Gilbert. His mind reeled from the after effects of _whatever _that was and he put a hand to his forehead, trying to steady his breathing.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" he finally managed, placing his hand on the bed for support. Ivan laughed breathlessly beneath him.

"That," he said, sitting up, "was one _hell_ of a chemical reaction," He laughed again, and Gilbert raised an inquisitive brow. "Vampire saliva has a... chemical in it that reacts with blood – both vampire and human – and kicks the sex hormones into overdrive. As a result, you get something like that,"

The albino blinked. What was this guy, a vamp scientist? Jeez, chemical reaction _this, _chemical reaction _that_, blah-blah-blah. He supposed it made sense, though, in a weird way. That would explain why he was so fucking turned on a moment ago.

Wait, that meant...He glanced down at his pants.

"There's clean ones for you in the armour. You should find them in your size," Ivan shifted, easily picking up the German in his lap and placing him off to the side. Gilbert grinned at the sight of Ivan's pants. He didn't know _why_ that made him proud, but it did. Well, at least he wasn't alone in is slightly awkward pleasure. Ivan tossed his shirt to him and straightened out his own clothes and picked up his scarf, turning to the door. "And from now on, should you get thirsty... ask for me," And then he was gone.

Gilbert fell back on the bed and laughed.

-x-x-

**To be continued**

-x-x-

**Interesting? Not interesting? Want to join Toris in tying Gilbert to a lamppost in the middle of the day? Tell me in a review!**


End file.
